


After the Dust Settles

by Nervous_Artist



Category: BFU - Fandom, Buzzfeed Unsolved
Genre: M/M, Ricky comes to rescue his ass, Tinsley is in trouble, hella hurt comfort, hurt comfort, like- sickeningly hurt comfort, whump too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 06:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20466716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nervous_Artist/pseuds/Nervous_Artist
Summary: After Tinsley is abducted by some particularly nasty mob bosses, Ricky has to swoop in to rescue his damsel in distress.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a lil ficlet for a discord pal. Lots of blood in this.

Tinsley stared at the peeling wallpaper, warped, terrifying. He was on his side, face pressed halfway into the carpet, glasses discarded haphazardly somewhere in the room. The dim flickering light from a single hanging bulb dully illuminated the cheerful parade of teddy bears and blocks lining the walls. This was once a nursery, but there were no cribs or rocking chairs in sight. The only thing in the room was a man, hardly conscious, beaten to a purple pulp. 

Tinsley pushed himself onto his elbows, arms shaking violently with the effort. His face screwed up into a tight scowl, and a string of spit dangled slowly from his swollen lips. He was almost convinced he had died, and this was Satan’s sick, sadistic way to remind him that he had sinned. This was his own personal hell. He had been here for hours, days, weeks, he couldn’t tell. Short flickering snippets of memories flitted through his brain on moth’s wings. Waking up around seven thirty, taking a short cold shower, making coffee, and grabbing his briefcase for the short walk to work. And then…

_And then…_

_And then… _ nothing. Void, blank, an empty sizzling spot in the back of his brain taking up several hours, maybe even days of his life. The more he tried to remember, the more the memory slipped out of his grasp like blood through the cracks of his fingers. 

They beat him every couple of hours. A pair of men, one who is not tall, and one who is not short, enter nonchalantly and “rough him up” as they say. This cute, affectionate term is an alternate way of hinting at what they really do. They enter, pick him up by the hair, and attempt to beat him within an inch of his life. Of course, they stop before any fatal damage can be done. Just his luck, being an asset to the most popular crime boss in town means you never get to die, which was something Tinsley was finding more and more tempting by the minute. 

A sharp knock at the door had Tinsley in shambles. He immediately started to shake as the door clicked open, shrinking in on himself and wishing he could simply pop out of existence. Two familiar figures entered silently. 

They stood for a few moments, simply staring at him. The man who is not tall was wearing a loose gray suit jacket, open with no tie. The man who is not short wears the same suit in blue, accompanied by a gold chain. Tinsley wanted to grab that chain and slowly squeeze it around his neck until he was gasping for air. 

“What are you smiling about?” 

“Nothing, I-“ Tinsley’s face fell as he craned his head, peering up at the pair through swollen eyes- “I wasn’t smiling, no.” His gaze dropped down at his hands, thumb pinching the web of skin between his pinkie and ring finger. 

Blue Suit suddenly snapped his fingers, yanking his thumb up in a _ come here _motion. “Up. Come with us.” 

Tinsley peered up again, eyes wide. “...what?” 

“God, did we beat the hearing out of you, too? You fucking heard what I said,” Blue Suit leaned forward, that sparkling gold chain dangling enticingly in front of Tinsley’s face. Tinsley willed himself to jump to his feet, to pull the chain tight, to squeeze until the man turned purple, to do _ anything _other than sit and tremble like a fucking hare in the face of a snarling coyote. He did nothing, like he always did. “Get the fuck up. Come with us.” 

Tinsley’s reply was weak, but indignant all the same. “...Why?”

The punch hit him before he even realized what had happened. One moment he was sitting, slouched on the matted carpet, peering into the face of a man that would haunt his nightmares for years to come, the next moment, he was on the ground. White spots fizzled on the edge of his vision, and tears ran hot and wet out of the corners of his eyes as he stared at the blurry ceiling. 

Suddenly, he gagged. Gray Suit bent down, digging his fist tightly into Tinsley’s hair and pulling him up just in time for Tinsley to vomit thick blood onto the carpet. He wiped at his mouth feebly, only to find a hot stabbing fire where his nose used to be. He screamed, a keening gravely sound. Blood poured from his nose down onto his already stained button up and slacks. He gently probed at his nose again, letting out a small aborted gasp when the cartilage shifted under his touch. It was broken, no doubt about it. 

“Get. Up.” Blue Suit growled, spacing the words too far apart for Tinsley’s liking. The detective groaned, trying to push himself up onto his knees, then his feet. His ribcage screamed in protest. They had broken his ribs, too. They kicked and kicked him until he heard each individual one crack under the pressure. He had passed out for hours after that one. 

As soon as he was on his feet, he saw stars, pitching forward into Blue Suit with a strangled groan deep within his chest. He felt arms under his shoulders, holding him up. They kept him standing for a few seconds, Gray Suit stuffed a cloth roughly in both of his nostrils, making him jerk back into Blue Suit with a yelp.

This was humiliating. He had been here for far too long without even a scrap to eat. They woke him up in the odd hours of the night to beat him, or douse him in freezing water. They didn’t even let him out to use the bathroom. He couldn’t take it anymore. He buried his head into Blue’s shoulder, placing his forehead on his collarbone as he began to sob, bunching the folds of his soft jacket into bruised knuckles. 

Surprisingly, they let him cry. Several minutes passed, Tinsley a blubbering gagging hiccuping mess, and the men still as statues. He let out strangled sounds, some pathetic hybrid of a whimper and a groan and a sob, all mixed into an ugly mess of an utterance. Tinsley burned with embarrassment. 

“Okay, enough.” Gray Suit yanked him roughly by the back of the shirt, and the ground undulated under his feet. He wobbled a bit, the only thing keeping him from falling over being a rough hand on his shoulder. His chest jumped with repressed tears, throat aching with the pressure. 

“Let’s go. Now.” Blue Suit placed a large hand on his lower back, pushing him towards the door. 

“Wait- my glasses.” Tinsley placed a few fingers over his cheek as if to check and see if they were there. His fingers touched mottled bruises and nothing more. 

He didn’t notice Gray Suit moving until the thick frames were shoved carelessly onto his face. He jumped, whimpering at the pressure on his nose, then nodded to the man. They walked out silently, Blue Suit gripping Tinsley roughly by the shoulder, dragging him limping behind like a lame horse on its way to the glue factory. 

They led him through the halls of the house. It looked to be an old farmhouse, all deep stained wood, and old paintings. It was barely furnished, several stains splattered the cracked walls, and it smelled of thick paint thinner. Golden specs of dust floated past them in the rays of afternoon sunlight flitting in through large windows. Tinsley caught a quick glimpse of outside, only to be met with a sea of trees, all brilliant oranges and yellows swaying in the autumn wind. 

“Where are you taking me?” Tinsley whispered the words like he was scared to know the answer. 

“Somewhere else. Not here.” Blue Suit muttered. 

“Why?” 

“Your little boyfriend caught wind of where we were keeping you. One of our guys was alerted that he’s on his way here.”

Tinsley’s heart soared. “R- Ricky?” 

“Yeah, the little bastard.” Gray Suit scoffed. “But, he’ll be too late.” 

Tinsley’s mind was running in circles, wondering how he can distract, or derail, or overpower the men in their ridiculous suits. He tried to look nonchalant, deciding to gnaw on his thumb for good measure. 

He was led to a living room, and shoved gracelessly down onto a large brown couch. 

“Our ride will be here soon. Just… stay put.” Gray Suit grumbled before exiting the room. Blue Suit stayed behind, leaning grumpily against one of the ugly beige walls, arms crossed. 

“How long have you been in the business?” Tinsley tried to distract the man with small talk, mind racing. 

“About ten years. What’s it to you?” 

“Nothing, just wondering if I should join.” Tinsley’s joke fell flat as he was met with a blank stare. He rubbed the back of his neck, sucking in a breath. 

He had to think of something, _ anything. _ He had to make it out for Ricky. Tinsley rubbed a pattern into the thick layer of dust coating the side table, chewing on his lip. _ What can I do, what can I do, what can I do? _

Suddenly, he collapsed into the couch with a strangled sound, writhing. Blue Suit jumped, quirking his brows. 

“What… what’s the matter?” 

Tinsley was panting now, hands clutching huge fistfuls of his shirt. He took a few tries to get the words out. “My- side. I think… a rib might have punctured something. It’s-“ he didn’t finish, letting out a sharp groan. Blue Suit rushed to his side. 

This was all Tinsley needed. He jumped into action, punching the man hard across the face, tackling him to the ground. Before he could get any sound out, he flipped him over, and pulled the gold chain tight around his neck. He couldn’t suck any air in, let alone get anything out. Tinsley tried to be as quiet as he could, pinning him down under his weight, bucking and tearing until he went limp in his arms. 

Tinsley rushed up and out of the room, fleeing to one of the large windows in the hallway. He grasped the frame with clawed hands, scrabbling to push it up. It didn’t budge. He twisted the lock the other way, trying desperately again to hoist the window up even an inch. His sweaty hands slipped off, and he fell against the window with a curse. It was stuck shut. Only one thing he could do now. 

He unbuttoned his shirt, slipping out of it with muffled hisses of pain. He wrapped it tightly around his hand, and threw all of his weight into a desperate punch. The old warped glass shattered under his fist, and he took no time to topple out. The glass sliced his shin, as well as his right shoulder. With no shirt to protect him, the shards cut deep, and he whimpered. No time to look. He ran faster than he thought possible, each jolt sending searing, aching pain up through his entire body. 

He made it to the front road before he heard the shouts, angry scraping screams that told him he was in danger. 

Something popped, some kind of muffled thud sending a rough jolt up through his side and into his chest like he had been hit full force with a baseball bat. Why was he lying on the road? The coarse asphalt was damp under him. Tinsley tried to sit up, but something stopped him. His body wasn’t working quite right, it felt like his skin was a bit too small for his skeleton. There was something deeply, deeply wrong. 

Suddenly, pain. It hit him in waves, searing, and unbearable. He’d like to say he didn’t make a sound, that he stood strong against the gaping bullet hole in his side, but he’s not that kind of person. He’s not like Ricky, who he had seen take on broken bones, and stab wounds, and beatings without batting an eye. Ricky never yelped, or groaned, and he definitely did _ not _cry. Tinsley was not Ricky Goldsworth, though, and he was in floods of tears before they caught up with him. 

He was dragged upright by his hair with a strangled groan, hyperventilating. A blurry gray blob was in front of him, shaking and jostling him in agonizing ways. He clutched at his side with a clenched fist, gasping as he felt the blood bubbling freely down his side. 

“We gave you a chance to be good.” The voice grated into his ears. “We gave you that chance, and you decided to get yourself killed.” The sharp metallic cock of a gun. “Now look at you.”

Tinsley closed his eyes tightly with a whimper at the cold press of a gun barrel against his temple. As terrified as he was, it was hard to do anything about it while he was losing buckets of blood. 

“Anything you want to say for yourself?” 

Tinsley opened his eyes, meeting the gaze of Gray Suit, flanked by several of his men. The detective smirked. 

“Look out.” 

A loud shot rang out, and Gray Suit was slumped on top of him. He heard the screech of tires, and several shouts. He rolled out from under the corpse, crawling on hands and knees to the side of the road. Several more shots and splatters. Spots were dancing across Tinsley’s vision, threatening to take over. He grimaced, glancing up to see Ricky. 

He was holding a pistol, quickly dispatching of any living men. Tinsley sighed, sinking down onto his elbows. Ricky fired the last shot, and the last mobster was red mist. He took no time to rush over to Tinsley, gathering him up in his arms. 

Tinsley was tense all over, gasping sharply as Ricky jostled the worst of his wounds. Ricky jerked back as if he was the one who was hurt. 

“I’m here, I’m here now. I- oh, _ pobrecito _.” Ricky was taking off his shirt, slipping it over his shoulders and pressing hard into the wound. Tinsley yelped like a kicked puppy, grabbing a rough fistful of Ricky’s undershirt in a trembling fist. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Ricky was whispering under his breath, motioning for his men to bring the car over. “We’re gonna get you back safe, okay? Tinsley, look. _ Look _at me.” 

Tinsley closed his eyes tight and turned his head away from Ricky’s batting fingers, forehead falling heavily into Ricky’s collarbone with a thump. “Tinsley, Tinsley you have to stay awake, okay? Just until we get home.” Ricky pressed down harder onto his wound, making him cry out sharply, a drawn out keening followed by a rough groan. 

It was raining. Tinsley could feel the drops on his face, hot and wet. That was weird, he didn’t remember seeing any clouds in the sky. He cracked open a watery eye to meet Ricky’s gaze. Ricky smiled at him through creased brows, looking more like a grimace than anything else, but he was trying. Ricky’s eyes were shiny, spilling over with tears that Tinsley could hardly believe. Tinsley reached up with a shaking hand, and gently thumbed a tear away from his cheek, smearing a crimson streak into his skin like a brand. 

Ricky began to cry harder, grabbing Tinsley’s hand to keep it on his cheek, shoulders shaking with the effort to keep quiet. “You’re safe now. You’re safe and I’ve got you, and everything’s okay, right Tins? We’re gonna- we’re gonna get you home and Dr. Fear will fix you up, and you’ll be good as new, okay?” His words were strained, sounding like he was trying to convince himself of these facts more than anything else. Tinsley nodded his head reassuringly. 

“Yeah,” His words were rocky, scraped out of his mouth through patches of gravel, “yeah, I’ll be okay, Ricky. Don’t… don’t worry about me.” His words drifted off, muffled through layers of pain and blood loss. “Just… I just…I-“ The sentence died, sticking in Tinsley’s throat. Ricky sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Tinsley, Tins, listen to me. You need to stay awake, okay? You need to- you just… _ shit.” _Tinsley let out a small sound as Ricky jostled him, pressing harder into his wound to staunch the blood flow. He cracked open an eye to see Ricky leaning over him, blood dripping down his shirt and face. He was beautiful. Tinsley reached up, gently touching Ricky’s stubbled cheek before wincing into unconsciousness. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The comfort part. My favorite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood tw for this one too, also some pretty graphic depictions of wounds. Not exactly gore, but like, descriptions of the cuts and stuff? Just be careful

It didn’t take long to get Tinsley into the car. Ricky simply lifted him bridal style, legs hanging close to the ground, head resting on Ricky’s collarbone. He was so much lighter than before. Tinsley didn’t make much noise save for a half conscious murmur. Ricky stroked his knee absentmindedly with a thumb, waiting for the Mayor to open the car door. 

He ducked into the back seat, careful not to jostle Tinsley too much. He sat the man up beside him, leaning his back against his body so he could press as firmly as possible into the wound. He wrapped Tinsley in a bear hug, pressing both fists into his sweat and blood slicked side. Tinsley stirred, gnashing his teeth together and whimpering. Ricky planted a small kiss to the top of his head. 

“Drive. Now. _ Now, _ Mayor. _ Vamos.” _

The car sped off into the winding country roads, leaving the rest of Ricky’s men to clean up the mess they left behind. Ricky caught the mayor’s gray eyes in the rear view mirror, shadowed under a wide brimmed hat. The mayor creased his brow, but didn’t speak, tugging his eyes back onto the road. 

Thirty more minutes to the base. Tinsley could make it that far. He had to. Ricky chewed on his lip, glancing down at the man in his arms. His eyelids were a sickly shade of brown, sunken into his skull. He could see the purple veins snaking close to his skin. His face was smattered with deep bruises, every shade of purple and yellow and blue. He looked like he hadn’t had a good sleep in his life. He looked like he was dying. Ricky sucked in a breath as the car ran over a pothole, making Tinsley squirm. Every bump and jostle was rendered agonizing, for Tinsley as well as Ricky. 

“I..._Ricky? _” 

Ricky jumped at the voice. The softness of it made him ache inside. 

“I’m here, _ novio _, I’m right here.” He reached a hand up, mopping beads of sweat away from the other man’s forehead with the Mayor’s handkerchief. “Stay awake for me, okay? Stay right here. Keep talking to me.” 

“_Nngh _… okay.” Tinsley’s voice was gentle and throaty, strung thin with pain. “Why are you pressing on me?”

“I’m trying to stop the bleeding. I know it hurts. Sorry.” 

“Hurts.” Tinsley scrunched up his face. “Hurts a _ lot… _ what _ happened?” _

Ricky pulled back a bit, peering confusedly into Tinsley’s face. “You… you were shot. You don’t remember?” 

“I remember you. Your face.” The detective’s eyes fluttered dangerously, eyes rolling up to peer into Ricky’s eyes. “Ricky, I don’t feel good.” 

Ricky’s heart broke. “I know,_ cariño _, I know. Twenty more minutes, and we’ll be home, okay? Just hold on a bit longer.” 

“Water?”

Ricky nodded his head absentmindedly, waving to the Mayor to grab his attention. “Mayor. Do we have water up there?” 

“This is yours from this morning.” The Mayor held up a half empty bottle in a loose grip. Ricky leaned forward to grab it, and Tinsley bit back a gasp. 

“Shit, _ sorry, sorry, sorry.” _Ricky carded a bloodstained hand through Tinsley’s hair, hoping to distract from the pain. Tinsley leaned into the touch. 

The cap was unscrewed quickly, and Ricky ushered Tinsley’s head up to gently tilt the bottle back into his mouth. Tinsley gulped at it like it was ambrosia. 

“Easy, _ easy. _Hey, now.” Ricky pulled the bottle away to Tinsley’s dismay. “Small sips. You’ll be sick.” 

“I’m- already sick.” Tinsley’s voice cracked as he coughed a bit. Ricky tilted him forward so he wouldn’t choke. Tinsley coughed again, harder this time, and reached back to grab Ricky’s wrist in a vice grip. Ricky could see the pain in his face, in the tension-filled dips and creases of his forehead. Tinsley coughed again, stuttering through each breath. Another cough, and red splattered across the seat in front of them. 

“_Shit. _ Shit, Tinsley, baby.” Ricky dabbed at the blood dribbling down Tinsley’s chin with the handkerchief, breath hitching. “Are you… please tell me you’re okay. _ Please.” _

“I...” Tinsley was cut off by another harsh grating cough. More blood flowed down his chin, dripping onto his already stained slacks. It took him a few moments to catch his breath, throat working with the effort. “I really don’t know. I don’t feel okay.” A pause, “Ricky?” 

Ricky checked the clock, ten more minutes to go. He pressed harder into Tinsley’s abdomen, causing the other man to kick his feet a bit, surprised at the pain. “Yeah, I’m here, Tins. I’m… _ god- _ I’m right here.” He kissed his forehead again, and Tinsley slouched back into him, tension sloughing off in waves. He made a half baked sound of approval, eyes rolling back into his head. 

“Fuck, Tinsley. Tinsley _ look _ at me. Five more minutes. Just… just stay awake for five more minutes and we’ll be there. And we’ll fix you up and… and-“ tears were streaming down his face now, hot and reflexive. “And _ please _ don’t die. _ Please _.” 

“Don’t worry, Rick… I’m- not- going- anywhere.” The words came slow through pursed lips, slurred with pain, and sleep deprivation, and emotion, and way too many problems to count. He struggled to lift a hand behind him, curling it into Ricky’s dark hair, running an index finger over the shell of his ear. Ricky closed his eyes, mouth quirked up into a grimace. 

The detectives hand slid off of Ricky’s neck at a snail's pace, slowly, slowly falling to his shoulder, then his arm, coming to an unceremonious halt down at his side. Ricky didn’t move, didn’t do anything as silent tears rolled down his face. He pressed half heartedly into the other man’s side, eliciting no response. Tinsley’s breath came shallow and fast, terrifying. 

The tires popped on gravel as they slowed to a stop. The mayor pulled up as close to the entrance as he could. Dr. Fear was waiting outside, rushing to the car as soon as he spotted it. 

The door was opened, and Ricky numbly scooted out, dragging Tinsley with him. Fear reached around to grab the man’s legs, hands resting under the crook of his knees. Tinsley pressed his head back into Ricky’s chest, huffing out a breath. The blood from his side tap, tap, tapped onto the driveway in a steady rhythm, bubbling as freely and quickly as a stream. Fear grimaced, reaching out to clamp a hand over the other man’s side and walking backwards into the open door. Ricky almost lost his footing in the loose gravel, numb to anything but Tinsley, and the faint rise and fall of his sweat slicked chest. They stepped up onto the porch, and into his house. Blood immediately stained the carpet. He didn’t care. 

Fear had cleared off the dining room table as soon as he got the text, brushing stacks of papers and the tablecloth to the floor unceremoniously, a white bed sheet draped in its place. He had brought his first aid kit with him, placing sutures, and iodine, and a roll of stark white bandages on the table next to him. They placed Tinsley down with a quiet thump. Ricky tried to cradle his head. His hair was flat, caked with weeks worth of blood, and sweat, and grease, matted into a birds nest on the crown of his head. Ricky barely bit back his tears, opting instead for a small, sad sound, sighing out his frustration and fear and worry into a single minusculel lament. 

Fear immediately got to work, grabbing a large tuft of gauze and wiping away the dwindling blood at his side. He clamped it down, grabbing Ricky’s wrist and placing his palm tightly over the wound as he moved on to the shoulder. Wiping away the crusted blood by his neck, the wound pulled itself open again, blood welling immediately down his shoulder onto the table. Fear cursed, quickly grabbing the towel draped across a chair, and wiping away at the wound. As the gash parted, Ricky glimpsed sinew, and maybe bone in the deepest part of the wound. He gagged, turning away. 

Fear worked to stop the bleeding of a couple more cuts before he moved back to the one on Tinsley’s side. He pulled on a fresh pair of blue rubber gloves, getting to work. It took all of Ricky’s strength to stay in the room, hunching over Tinsley as he drags a chair loudly across the floor, sinking down into it. He clutches at the other man’s hand. It’s so cold. Ricky shudders, and for the first time in years, he begins to pray. 

—

Tinsley doesn’t know how much time had passed before he wakes. All he can remember is blood- so much blood- and feeling very, very cold, and… _ Ricky. _

How did he get here?

Where even is here?

Some scraping, tapping noise he can’t make out slowly seeps into his consciousness. An incessant throbbing in his head. His limbs are dead tired, encased in concrete at his side. Despite this, he tries to sit up and get a look, and-

Blood. Lots of blood, just like before, draped over him like a crimson quilt. Someone is leaning over him trying to patch up the worst of it. That was all he took in before the agony engulfed him. 

He can’t hold back the cry that forces its way out of his throat, squeezing his eyes shut and hissing out several unsteady breaths through his teeth. 

Voices are calling his name now, urgent. Steady hands are on his shoulders, his chest, urging him back down. He’s too weak to resist, between the onslaught of pain and fatigue, it’s a lost battle. 

He’s on his back now, sweat rolling down his skin not unlike the pearls of blood beading down his side. His wounds throb, his head is pounding, his whole body aches. Breathing hurts. Through all of this, there’s a hand running steadily through his hair that somehow makes these sensations slightly more bearable. 

The light stings when he opens his eyes, but he’s able to push through it, slowly gaining his bearings. His head is barely strong enough to lift, but he does it anyway, trying to get another look at what’s happening to him. There’s a hand on his cheek now, caressing him, urging him softly back onto the table. 

“Don’t look,” Tinsley knows this voice. This is a voice that he’s heard countless times under countless circumstances. Right now, it’s strained, pulled thin with worry, “Look at me, okay? Just keep your eyes on me. You’re going to be okay. Just fine.” 

He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. Sand cakes his throat, and he swallows, trying to dislodge it. He licks his lips and tries again, barely croaking out the words, “Rick… _ what _ ?” He doesn’t know what he’s trying to ask, maybe _ what happened, _ or _ what are you doing to me, _but the sentence falls flat. He’s distracted by the steady hand still carding slowly through his hair. Ricky shushes him with a light touch on his cheek, heavenly. 

“You’re okay, _ novio. _I’ve got you.” 

Tinsley almost believed him. The hand was stroking his cheek now with a soft thumb, skipping over the bruises mottling his face, hovering lightly over his split lip. The detective leaned into the touch. 

“You’re safe.” 

His mind was being pulled back down, muffled by the thick fog of unconsciousness. He was scared, terrified, even, but Ricky’s words wrapped around him, a thick warm blanket to dull his aching senses. He wants to fight it, but he knows there’s no use. Even as another stab of pain hits him like a truck, making him hiss violently through his teeth, making his back arch up off the table, making him grab onto Ricky’s wrist like a vice and _ squeeze _, he still feels safe. As the pain dulls, he can’t help but relax, sinking back down into Ricky’s arms with panted breaths. 

“Hey, hey… I know it hurts, I know. _ I’ve got you, though. I’m here... _Rest of you can.” Ricky’s voice urges. Tinsley is underwater now, struggling to make out the other man’s words. He shivers, eyes fluttering dangerously closed. Ricky is there through it all. “I’ll be with you when you wake up.” 

This was enough for Tinsley to sink further down into the darkness. The world was buzzing, and he was shivering, and he was scared, but Ricky’s hand was still on his cheek, the other settled as a warm weight across his right hand, squeezing gently. He’s tired, so tired. He doesn’t possess the strength to do anything but blink slowly up at Ricky one final time, finally closing his eyes and letting himself slip down into unconsciousness once more. 

  
  



End file.
